Page 55 of Thor

"First section covers roles and expectations," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "What we each bring to the relationship and commit to providing."

Mandy leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against mine as she read. The contact was innocent, but it sent warmth through me anyway—a reminder of the intimacy we were building, step by careful step.

"This is about trust," Duke emphasized again, his eyes moving between us. "About making explicit what's often left implicit in relationships."

The first section was relatively dry and straightforward, and it was good to have Duke and Mia there. But the atmosphere shifted when Duke and Mia tactfully withdrew, giving Mandy and me the privacy to discuss the more intimate aspects of our dynamic.

"We'll be in the lounge with Diesel," Duke said, his hand brushing my shoulder in silent support as he passed. "Take your time." Alone now, I watched Mandy study the contract draft spread before her. Her green eyes narrowed as they tracked across each paragraph, her slender finger occasionally tapping a particular clause or phrase. Even in this vulnerable moment, her professional precision remained—methodical, thorough, missing nothing.

After several minutes of careful reading, she looked up at me with an expression of genuine surprise and approval. "You've included everything," she said, sounding impressed. "Hard limits, soft limits, safewords, protocols for both sides." Her finger tapped a particular section. "You even included clauses about renegotiation periods and what happens if either of us needs to pause the dynamic temporarily."

I nodded, warmth spreading through my chest at her approval. "I wanted to be thorough. This isn't something to half-ass."

"Clearly," she agreed, a small smile playing at her lips. She turned to the next page, her expression growing more serious as she reached the section on consent.

"This is important," I said, moving my chair closer to hers. Our knees touched beneath the table, a subtle connection that anchored us both. "Nothing happens without explicit consent. That's non-negotiable."

Her eyes met mine, searching my face for something. "Some Doms I've read about online don't seem to feel that way. They talk about 'pushing limits' or 'knowing better than the sub what they need.'"

A surge of protectiveness rose within me. "Those aren't Doms. They're predators using kink as cover."

Mandy's expression softened with relief. "That's what I thought too."

"This relationship—whatever we build together—has to work for both of us," I continued, tapping the consent section. "Your submission is a gift, not a right. I need to earn it every fucking day."

She nodded, some tension leaving her shoulders. "The safeword system you've outlined—green, yellow, red—is standard, but effective."

"We can personalize it if you want something different."

"No, it's perfect. Simple enough to remember even when I'm . . ." she paused, a blush coloring her cheeks, ". . . not thinking clearly."

The implication—her being in Little space or sexually overwhelmed—sent heat through my body, but I kept my focus on the task at hand. This was about establishing trust and communication, not indulging my fantasies.

We worked through the document together, discussing each point carefully. I watched the shifting expressions on her face—curiosity, embarrassment, excitement, occasional uncertainty—and adjusted my approach accordingly. When a particular topic made her withdraw slightly, I'd slow down, creating space for her to process. When something sparked obvious interest, I'd dig deeper, encouraging her to articulate exactly what she wanted.

Mandy grew more comfortable as we progressed, her initial hesitation giving way to increasingly specific descriptions of her needs and desires. She blushed but continued to articulate what she wanted—age regression scenarios that helped her relieve stress, rules about self-care that would provide structure, comfort items she responded to, and terms of endearment that resonated with her Little side.

"Being called 'princess' or 'little one' makes me feel..." she paused, searching for the right words, "...safe. Protected. But also special."

I made a mental note, already thinking of ways to incorporate those endearments naturally. "Any others that work for you? Or any to avoid?"

Her blush deepened. "'Baby girl' is nice. But I don't like 'baby' by itself. It feels too generic."

"Noted," I said, adding it to the document. "What about 'good girl'?"

The change in her was immediate and unmistakable—pupils dilating, breath catching, a slight squirm in her seat. "That's . . . yes. That works."

I smiled, filing away that particularly strong reaction for future reference.

The conversation turned to discipline, and I noticed how her demeanor shifted—nervous yet intrigued, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that tested my self-control.

"Punishment isn't about humiliation," I explained carefully. "Unless you explicitly want it to be. It's about growth and reinforcing boundaries that make you feel safe. But I also want it to be fun for you."

She nodded, but uncertainty lingered in her expression. "What kinds of punishment would you . . ." She trailed off, seemingly unable to complete the question.

"Depends on the situation," I said. "And what works for you. Some respond to corner time—standing facing the wall to reflect. Others need writing assignments or loss of privileges."

"Like what privileges?" she asked, her voice slightly lower than before.

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